


Wish You Weren't Here

by Nephewife



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Blood and Gore, Choking, Dead Miles: Do Not Eat, Disembowelment, Guts - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Uncle/Nephew Incest, death kink, extreme violence, gut fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22172872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nephewife/pseuds/Nephewife
Summary: Another fic where Aaron catches Miles. This time he completely destroys the poor boy. Kills him too.
Relationships: Aaron Davis/Miles Morales, Prowler/Miles Morales
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	Wish You Weren't Here

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary: If there were two guys in costume and one of them killed the other with his cock would that be fucked up or what? 
> 
> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please, for the love of god, READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS ON THIS ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> This is absolutely horrible in just about every way, don't say I didn't warn you... 
> 
> Probably will post a follow up chapter to this one.  
> Sorry for writing this (I'm not). Hope if you stick around, you enjoy!

_ “I just wish you were here.” _ Miles had finished writing his note to Aaron. It had felt good getting his thoughts off his chest, but he’d still wished Aaron was there to hear them in person. 

Now as he flees from Prowler he curses his stupid wish. Why couldn’t he have waited, stayed blissfully ignorant of Aaron’s true nature. He couldn’t even get that right,  _ god _ everything was falling apart. His heart races as he leaps from car to car and onto a delivery van. 

Miles grips the side of the van, looking back at Prowler, at  _ uncle Aaron _ closing in on him fast, one clawed hand swiping out as he gets within reach. Miles has nowhere to go, could probably escape if he had the time to think but as it is he only has time to try and dodge the attack. 

He swings back, one hand keeping him stuck to the van, avoiding most of the blow but it's not enough. Prowler’s claws slash across his side, not deep but enough to cause sharp pain to spike through his body over the sound of his suit tearing. 

He loses his tenuous grip, powers distracted by the shock and falls to the road, rough asphalt grinding through his skin as he skids to a stop. He's disoriented from all the tumbling and the pain now blooming all over his body, can't even get his bearings back before something is dragging him off the road and into an alley. 

He quickly realises it's Prowler and tries to fight him off but he can't get purchase for any of his attacks. He's being held by the back of his neck, sharp metal fingers gripping all the way around and squeezing his throat painfully. Metal joints pinching at the sensitive skin. 

He's not off the ground, legs scraping even more as he's dragged, scrambling to get any kind of footing but failing, kicking out at Prowler but none of his hits have any power behind them in his panic. He twists and turns and scratches and kicks but he's quickly running out of breath with exertion and the tight grip restricting his windpipe. 

Miles barely notices how muffled the road has become, faint sirens of the emergency services arriving to help, but too late to help  _ him _ . 

Prowler must decide this is far enough because he's suddenly slammed into the ground face first with surprising force. Anyone else and it would smash their skull open, but Miles just feels his vision spin and nausea rising bile into his throat. It burns as he swallows it back down and he's flipped onto his back. 

A hand returns around his neck before he can fully get his breath back, other one tearing his costume even more, exposing his belly to the cold air, scratching into his skin as it goes. Miles' head is pounding and he can hear the blood rushing through his ears. He's so terrified he can barely think, mind screaming at him to run but he's held in place and there's nowhere to go. 

_ ‘Why won't the powers work?’ _ Miles thinks frantically. 

He tries to turn himself invisible but just flickers on and off, tries to use his venom strike but can only build up a slight static before it fizzles out. Even his increased strength isn't working, hands scrambling and unable to push Prowler off him, unable to pry the tight grip from his neck. He can't focus, and Prowler is ALL focus - handling him with practiced ease, masked eyes void of any mercy. 

_ ‘How many times has Aaron done this?’ _ Miles wonders.  _ ‘Aaron,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘this is AARON.’ _

Miles feels a glimmer of hope at that reminder, maybe if his uncle knew it was him he'd stop. 

Miles tries to talk but can only manage unintelligible sounds so he starts to reach for his own mask. He's too slow. The hand not around his neck pins his hands back above his head.  _ ‘No!’ _ Miles tries to yank them back down, grunting with the effort, but the gauntlets must be powered in a way that makes even HIS strength useless, it’s that or he's panicking too much, but he doesn't have time to think about it. 

The hand around his neck releases, and Miles has only a moment to feel relief, sputtering coughs and gasping in much needed breaths of air. His reprieve is short lived. Prowler readies the claws in the air making a horrifying metallic  _ snikt _ noise as they spread out. He's primed to strike, Miles realises. Dread sinks in his gut, and then just like that, so does sharp metal. 

Miles screams in agony, can barely hear the sound of his flesh ripping over the shout, a grotesque wet noise, even obscured it makes his stomach turn. Or maybe that's the pain, or his stomach actually turning. Miles doesn't want to look at himself to see how bad the damage is, but it feels as though his whole torso is on fire. It must be bad. 

The hand around his wrists moves back to his throat, cutting off the noises he didn't realise he had still been making. All thoughts of removing his mask had been forgotten, all his mind could feel was fear and pain. It was a frantic feeling, no longer the deep dread or nervous racing of thoughts. It was pure screaming terror, a fear unlike anything Miles had ever felt, all encompassing and LOUD, a primal thing setting off every alarm in his head. 

_ ‘Fight! Run! Hide! Leave! Danger! Death! NO!’ _

The hand swiped again, tearing deeper still. Miles' cry is choked this time, hoarse and broken, working its way up his throat past his squeezed windpipe. His body kicks out without his control, hands uselessly fisted into the material of Prowlers shirt. 

Now he  _ really  _ can't breathe, consciousness slipping away from him as he struggles to get any air. He's about to pass out, vision spotting into blackness, when it all just stops. 

Prowler pulls away completely. 

Miles sucks in air in great wheezing lungfuls, forgets for a moment not to look down in his moment of reprieve, and the sight makes him feel like he's choking all over again. His belly is in shreds, through all the red of flesh and blood he swears he can see his organs, that's his intestines he can see, he's sure of it. He leans over and throws up in the mask, all bile and blood. 

He's forgotten about Prowler, and suddenly a boot kicks him back over onto his back. There's a wet splattering sound of blood on the concrete. 

Miles looks back up at Prowler, and wants to throw up again. He's got,  _ god _ , he's taken his dick out of his pants. Miles is reminded again that this isn't just some costumed stranger, this is his uncle Aaron. He almost can't believe it, this couldn't be happening. 

Aaron drops to his knees again, yanks Miles' legs apart to settle between them. He’s got one hand slowly stroking his dick, and with the other he rips Miles’ tattered costume even more, exposing him. Miles can’t even think to say something or to take off his mask, he’s too shocked. 

Sure Aaron has no idea who’s trembling beneath him in a growing pool of blood, but that doesn’t matter to Miles. In his mind all that matters is that this is his uncle Aaron getting off on ripping him apart. The same Aaron who, less than an hour ago, Miles would’ve trusted with his life. With anything. 

He’d loved Aaron. He really, really had. He still does. But now his uncle is using a gloved and blood-slicked hand to stroke himself, looming over Miles without a shred of mercy in his eyes. 

His thoughts are even  _ more  _ frantic now, a mess of  _ ‘No!’ _ and  _ ‘This is not happening!’ _ and _ ‘Please, god, NO!’ _ , but one thought in particular works its way to the surface.  _ ‘Get away!’  _

With that thought, his body moves on it’s own, scrambling and dragging him backwards, desperate to get even a metre between him and Aaron. It’s a useless attempt and Aaron just watches his last ditch effort for freedom with sick amusement. Miles can’t go anywhere, he’s cornered and if he tries to stand his innards will slip all the way out of his body, strewing them along the ground as he goes. Miles knows this, but he has to believe he still has a chance, can’t just lay there and accept his fate. Not when it’s  _ this.  _

His head hits the brick of the alley wall. 

Miles watches as Aaron shuffles back towards him, he’d barely made it 5 feet. When he’s close enough, a hand wraps around his ankle and yanks him forward again, Miles’ head bounces sharply off the ground from the force of it, dazing him for a moment. He lays there staring at the sliver of night sky visible through the tall buildings as Aaron spreads his legs once more. 

This time he positions himself to brush the tip of his cock against Miles’ ass-cheeks. It leaves slight smears of Miles’ blood against his skin where it drags along it, still wet from his stroking with the dripping gauntlets. It’s a strange feeling, having a man touching him with that part of him, in that way. A bad feeling. 

Aaron reaches up to lift his own mask, leaves it covering the top of his head but no longer obscuring his face. It hurts Miles to see him - his  _ uncle _ . He’s taking his time looking over the poor boy, relishing in his distress. There’s a sadistic amusement in his eyes, and a hunger. Miles never could have imagined such a look on Aaron’s face, normally so kind, so soft and full of love. Now it makes his skin crawl. 

Miles shudders as he sobs, drawing Aaron’s eyes to his own through the holes in the knock-off mask. He’s aware of how pathetic he must seem, crying and whimpering like a child, but Aaron seems to like it. One of his hands reaches up to Miles’ face. Miles thinks he’s going to lift his mask too, but instead two of the sharp fingertips run along the space below his nose. Feeling for something. 

They find his half open mouth through the fabric and push in, pressing the rough material against Miles’ tongue and then piercing through. They graze the inside of his mouth, but the pain barely registers over the searing in his body. The taste of blood is disgusting and makes him gag even worse when the fingers reach further down. His throat spasms around the sharp metal, cutting him up, and he has to try breathing through his nose lest he choke on his own blood. Between the glove and the blood, all he can taste is metal.

He’s so busy trying to maintain his breath that he doesn’t realise Aaron has moved the head of his dick to Miles’ hole. Doesn’t notice until he starts to push inside, and then he’s biting down, not that it hurts Aaron through the armoured gauntlet. He screams again, muffled through his clenched teeth and stuffed mouth as Aaron sinks into him without pause. __

_ ‘It’s happening. It’s really happening. Uncle Aaron is…’ _ He didn’t even want to  _ think  _ of the word. 

Miles can’t stop his pained yelling as Aaron moves in and out of him, stretching him too wide too fast and catching with each motion. His vocal cords must tear from the strain, or maybe Aaron damaged something with how far down his throat the claws are reaching, and his voice peters out into grating, agonising croaks that make him cough around the intrusion. 

The pain he felt in his throat and all through his body seems insignificant now. Maybe he’s getting used to it, or it’s the blood loss making him numb. Mostly though it’s hard to focus when his heart feels like it’s being torn apart even worse than his flesh. 

Miles wants to do more than cry - he wants to  _ scream _ . The feeling wants to burst free from his body. The need to let it all out is deafening but he can barely move, he can barely make a sound. As Aaron thrusts into him, he can only whimper out pained little noises and it makes him feel weak, pathetic. 

Aaron doesn’t take things slow, it’s not like he cares about damaging the already dying kid, but Miles is still tight and it takes a lot of force to push himself inside each time. Miles was a virgin until now, never put anything inside of him let alone something this big. His small frame doesn’t help either, there’s only so much room inside him and it’s not a lot. Lacerated as it is however, there's more room in his gut, nothing holding all his parts in place and the movement of Aaron’s dick is visible through the sloshing of his innards. 

It’s with horror that Miles realises, if he survives, this will always be his first time. He hadn’t given it much thought, but had assumed it’d be with a pretty girl, not with his uncle on the hard ground in a dirty alleyway. Not brutally, unwillingly. If he didn’t, this would be his  _ only  _ time. This only happened in movies, or in stories his dad told to scare him into staying off the streets, how was this happening to him? Why did it have to be his uncle? 

Aaron yanks the fingers out of Miles’ mouth making him cough and splutter up fresh blood. He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes, but now they are open again, just in time to watch the now free hand drag down his chest until it reaches the mess that is his gut. 

It’s plunged inside of him. 

Not ripping this time but sliding deeper. Searching. 

Miles can hear himself try to scream again, but it’s so hoarse and broken it’s almost unrecognisable as his voice. It’s more of a croaking noise, choked off and rough. So quiet there’s no chance of anyone hearing him. 

The hand finds what it was reaching for. 

Where the slide of Aaron’s dick inside him had become easier as his muscles relented and his flesh tore, it’s suddenly tight again. Aaron’s hand has wrapped around himself through Miles’ insides, hand gripping his gut tight and jerking himself off like Miles’ flesh is a toy. 

_ Too much _ . It’s too much for Miles to handle anymore. With every movement his insides are mangled even more by the sharp metal. Trauma and blood loss too much even with his superhuman constitution. Black splotches are creeping in from the sides of his vision, his head is swimming and it’s increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. 

_ ‘Gotta stay awake…’ _ Miles isn’t stupid, he knows he’s dying. Knows if he loses consciousness now he wont ever wake up. He can’t die, as tempting as it may be with his whole world crumbled around him. As little as he,  _ Miles _ , has to live for now, he has a responsibility to New York. He can still be Spider-Man, he  _ has  _ to be Spider-Man, the others are counting on him to get them home safe. 

But oh how he wants to slip back into nothingness… To escape the reality of being driven into by the person who he cared for most, who he used to trust more than anyone else. 

If he couldn’t trust Aaron then who  _ could  _ he trust? Who could he ever love the same way? Who could care for him the way his uncle had? Besides, if  _ this  _ is who Aaron truly was, did his uncle ever even love him back? Did Miles ever even know him? 

Uncle Aaron. The man who’d held him when he cried. Had he gotten off to that too? The same Aaron who always believed in him, understood him. More than his dad ever had. Dad had tried to warn him, how right had he been? How much did he know?  _ ‘Why didn’t I listen to him?’  _ Miles berates himself. 

Miles doesn’t want the answers to those questions. The grief of solely asking them is worse than the physical pain still shooting through every nerve. 

God... He wants to die. 

He probably will. 

Miles looks up at the sky, night but lit with the warm haze of city lights and the coming morning. As his vision blurs and spins he can’t help but wonder if he’ll live to see it. 

He’s scared. 

* * *

Aaron watches as the kid below him struggles to remain alive, every breath he takes is rasped and he can feel his heartbeat fluttering. His body shivers weakly with each harsh drive Aaron makes into his guts. 

He’s made a mess, there’s blood everywhere and some of the boy’s organs have spilled out of his torso and onto the pavement, jostled by all the movement. Those still remaining inside him are hardly recognisable, all in the wrong places, shredded and bloody. 

The sight is enough to have him hard, but the real kicker had been the chase. 

He should feel worse about murdering a  _ child _ , he’d never had to do that before, but truth be told it’s the best reaction he’s ever gotten. Never had someone show so much fear and despair in their eyes, put up as much of a struggle, cry so perfectly for him. The boy had so much life, a youthful energy that he found irresistible - he couldn’t help but savour squeezing that life out of him. 

This kid had the same healing factor as the original Spidey. Aaron hadn’t been able to have his fun with  _ him  _ but it could never have been as good as  _ this _ . Watching those eyes sparking with terror slowly fade as his life pours from him. Working all the fight out of him until all he can do is lay there and accept his fate, tears still pooling and wetting damp spots into the cheap mask. 

If he could, he'd do this forever, but he can’t. Besides, it would ruin the best part. 

The timing is perfect, he’s getting close and can tell the kid is too, life nearly run its course, visibly delirious. He doubts the kid even knows up from down at this stage. 

Then, just like that, he’s gone. 

Aaron feels that life slip away completely, feels the frail heart patter out, feels as the small boy takes his final laboured breath and goes quiet. As he feels him go limp, Aaron thrusts once, twice, and then he’s coming. At some point the tip had broken through and as he pushes himself balls deep, the head pokes out into the rest of the viscera. Thick ropes of cum coat the mess, white standing out starkly against the red and mixing together. It’s a grotesque sight, watching his own seed defile the slight, still warm corpse. It just makes him cum harder. 

He pulls out and moves to straddle the boy’s vacant face, eyes staring into the distance, empty, blank. Through the mask hole he’d made earlier he slides his softening dick into his mouth and down his throat, letting it clean off some of the blood and pulling out the last few drops of cum. 

Standing and tucking himself back into his pants, Aaron regards the body with satisfaction, what a sight he’ll make for whoever finds him. Would stay for more but he should make his getaway under the cover of dark. He knows the back routes from here to his apartment but he makes a highly conspicuous figure, costumed and stained with both fresh and drying blood. Should head back and clean himself up before doing much else. He delivers one final kick to the poor boy’s side and leaves, calling Kingpin as he goes. 

“Kid’s dead. Sent a message to the other Spiders too. Told you, I don’t ever quit.” 


End file.
